Weaker Than Thou
by Fang323
Summary: England, in a fit of deprecation, relives memories stemming from a simple annoying phone call.  Unfortunately, America tends to make things worse.
1. Phone Call At What Time?

What up, Fang is back! School stuff, you know...I've been kind of busy. But now that I have absolutely no time on my hands, I can totally start finishing all the fics I started...and start posting again...

Anyway, this is my first Hetalia Fiction, and contrary to my being an extremely patriotic American, England is my favorite character in the series.

For those people who like time periods, think of this one as maybe 4, 5 years after WWII. Please enjoy!

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><p>The phone rang.<p>

England's cup of Earl Grey jumped a little in his hand at the intruding noise so early in the morning. Mumbling a few choice swear words about the absurdity of such a call, he set his teacup and newspaper down on the tea table and stood up. Stretching his arms up to the ceiling, he made the split decision to be somewhat annoying and not answer the phone right away, and therefore took his sweet time moving from his armchair to his desk. Only three people could be bloody calling at 7:00 in the morning, and he wasn't quite inclined to speak to any of them.

His boss was one. There were enough political meetings with Parliament without having his Prime Minister breathing down his neck. World War II hadn't been exactly kind to him, to say the least; in rebuilding his nation, England had been spending way too much time with him. The last thing England needed was another scolding about his economy, and the flow of income and exports and the situation with the new rising of communism…

England shook his head to clear his thoughts of anything unpleasant. He could deal with that after morning tea.

France, on the other hand, was even worse. England scowled even at the thought of the bloody frog. If it was that wanker, then he was going to be forced to start another hundred-year war. This, under all circumstances, wouldn't be a bad thing…

The last caller at this time…no…oh, #!*% , no…would America suffer him this kind of torture? He didn't want his antics! Couldn't he wait until after his first cup of tea? England rolled his eyes and reached for the phone.

"Hello?"

"Dude, Iggy! I bet you totally can't guess who is freaking awesome and calling you?"  
>"…You git, Alfred, what the #!*% could be so bloody important at 7?" England yelled into the receiver.<p>

"Ha Ha Ha! Dude, Iggy, I've been up for hours, so I have no clue what you're talking about! Anyway, I totally wanted to tell you what happened to Matthew, bro, he totally got freaked out when I bashed his door down to tell him about…well, I don't remember that part, but it was hilarious, 'cause his bowl of maple syrup – That is so weird that he eats that stuff, right? I mean, hamburgers are the breakfast of heroes! And I'm a hero! So I eat hamburgers!"

"Yes, yes, America, of course you are…_not_…" England muttered under his breath. Must control temper, must keep control. You are a gentleman, Arthur Kirkland, consider this a test of skill against idiocy…

"And then the bowl ended up on Canadia's head! Could you believe it? Ha Ha Ha Ha! Things are so much better on my side of the world, Iggy, and it was hilarious…Dude, you're not laughing…oh yeah, that's because you're so old, humor doesn't apply to you anymore!"

With America laughing good-naturedly in the background, England's constitution snapped.

"I'm not bloody old, you wanker hamburger eater! No wonder you're gaining weight, with that crap to eat morning, noon, and night!"

"Hey, our hamburgers rock and are delicious! And they are a #!*% of a lot better than those rocks you pass off as scones!"

"What the - ! You git, you have no taste at all! Take a look at yourself before you go insulting other countries' food! Stupid America!" England flopped back in his chair, hand gripping the phone in a stranglehold.

"I do, 'cause I'm awesome! I'm the hero, there's nothing wrong with me! Oh, and how's those imaginary friends working for you?"

England slammed his fist on the tea table hard, shaking the tea in his tea cup. His enormous eyebrows were twitching furiously.

"Alright , wanker, that's it! If you come over to my house right now, I will kick your arse so hard that you'll fly to bloody Russia! Bring it!"

England heard America's laughter over the line, and realizing how worked up he had gotten, sat down none-too-quietly in his navy blue armchair. He rubbed his eyes with one hand and sighed in what seemed to be annoyance, but he was covering up a laugh of his own. He sat back in his chair, waves of tension after the normal exchange with America rolling off his back.

"Ugh…bloody…Alfred, why are you calling me, anyway…" he moaned, leaning his head in his hand.

"What was I- Uhhhh…." Alfred trailed off. Arthur mentally cursed him.

"Oh, yeah! Dude, I totally called you to invite you to my totally kick- #!*% awesome birthday party for…ME! That's right! Tomorrow!"

There was silence on England's end. Frozen in his chair, his mouth dropped open at the words from America.

"….um….Iggy?"

"…Wha-What?" England found his voice. "Oh, umm…yes? What was it you asked?"

"Dude, I asked you if you were coming?" America's voice sounded puzzled. England fumbled for words as he also tried to regain his autonomic functions. Tomorrow? Already?

"Oh, um…yes. Yes, I-I'm coming." He stuttered. He blinked his eyes a few times and shook his head to clear it. "Yes, yes, of course."

"Awesome! Dude, it is gonna be a blast. There's gonna b ice cream and hamburgers and hot dogs, and France was bringing over some snail thing that nobody is gonna eat because that's just gross. Oh, and Tony is totally upgrading my house, so I'll be al hip and hero-awesomeness for the party. And I invited Germany and Italy, hope that's okay with you, though my boss kinda made me invite Russia, even though I totally told him that I didn't want commies at my house, but hey, that just means that if anything goes wrong, I'll save everyone and be a hero! It's all a part of my epic plan, since the superhero is rented out to fix Europe, and – dude, Iggy, you still there?"

England started; he hadn't even realized America's blabbing until he heard that absolutely ridiculous nickname.

"Oh! Yes, I-I'm fine." He covered for his silence.

"You seem kinda out of it today. You're not dying on me, again?" he added jokingly.

"What! No, I am most certainly not dying again, of however you put it, you bloody-!"

England sighed. America waited for the rest of his answer, being uncharacteristically patient. England did pause to marvel at this once in a lifetime occurrence.

"It's just…oh, you know, some of my wounds from the war haven't completely healed yet, and…um…my economy is still in pretty bad shape, so my headache is being a bugger. That's all." He lied smoothly, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh, that's all? Kay, don't be gettin' old on me, Iggy, you're only over a thousand!" America's laugh came over the end. Arthur laughed inside his head with his at the long running insult, though he scowled curse words into the receiver.

"Well, ummmm…look, Alfred, I really do have work to do, so if you will excuse me, old chap…"

"Yeah, yeah! Dude, I have so much crap to do for this party, it's gonna be-"

England hung up the phone. Leaning back in his chair, he let out a pent-up breath of air as he settled into the blue fabric again. He grabbed for his teacup, the Earl Grey now only lukewarm, and took a mindless sip. He glanced around the room, tastefully decorated in elegant glass, wallpaper, carpet, furniture…each piece taking another and complementing it, as if that was its only purpose, down to the last painting. A gentleman's tearoom, he scoffed. English pride and joy. His eyes came to rest upon the calendar hanging from the far wall, and were drawn towards tomorrow's date: July 4.

England suddenly sat up, setting his tea down, forgotten, and walking albeit stiffly to unlock the adjourning door leading to his patio. Flinging open the doors, he tasted the foggy air of London's morning mist and leaned against the railing. He let the cool breeze blow his unkempt hair in and out of his brilliant green eyes.

He wasn't exactly lying, he assured himself as his heart throbbed painfully again as in many minutes. His new scars and wounds did sting, as did his headache, but he didn't technically lie to America. It just was not the real reason, he admitted to himself.

"July 4, eh…" he murmured to himself. Smiling a little regretfully, he lowered his head and sighed.

"I might not make it there, dear chap."

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><p>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<p>

...I love England...

Yes. The whole thing about just...leaving Artie there in the mud after the Revolution...I really just want to write a fic on...just that one scene...

Just saying, writing America's rants are extremely entertaining! I could go on and on and on, but people don't want me to write just a fic of America never shutting up (though he never does...) so I had to stop somewhere.

France will eventually come in...sometime...Yeah, I really don't like that guy, and if you look in the manga or the anime, you can probably see that he tried to rape poor Iggy like, 2 or 3 times. Think I'm lying? Take a look! Find them! Challenge ACCEPTED!

Anyway, REVIEWS (did I mention that in big enough print?) are greatly appreciated, and though I say this every time, if you have anything bad to say about my stories, TELL ME! Oh, and I write for historical accuracy, as more Hetalia fics pop up, and so if you see anything that isn't, I would greatly appreciate knowing about it.

Example: THANK YOU SO MUCH BritPick94. You are awesome. Yes. And I went back and fixed it. Historical Accuracy, folks! It makes it that much better. Do the same, and be as awesome too!

Thanks, and Arthur forever!

-Fang


	2. Party Minus One

Hey, Fang here!

Wow, two chapters in one day...I'm on a roll, man. Anyway, enjoy, as always!

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><p>America only realized England had hung up on him after he talked for ten more minutes. Mentally smacking himself in the face, he bounced back on his American flag coverlet and picked up his Nintendo D.S. from fifty years in the future. Randomly pressing buttons, he blew zombie heads off with vigor.<p>

Something was off with Arthur, which was for sure. What, he couldn't quite figure out.

"Eh, he'll be cool when he sees how awesome my party is!" he said loudly. Tony looked up from his laptop in confusion. America waved him back to drawing patterns in the sands of Africa. A few more minutes of saving the world from the undead later, he tossed the game aside and headed out of his properly themed bedroom to go con Matthew into setting up his party…or, at least the hard parts. If Canada even got the maple syrup out of his hair from this morning. Yeah, that might have been a problem.

July 4. England smiled grimly as he stepped off his private plane onto American soil. The jet lag was going to kill him tomorrow, but right now, he had a more important thing to worry about. One he didn't particularly want to dredge up memories of.

"Ah! C'est vrai? C'est l'Angleterre! Tres, tres bien!"

….Bloody #!*% …make that two things.

The man who in no right should constitute as a man came sashaying up to him, leaving glitter and sparkles in his footsteps, long hair flowing, that idiotic expression on his face…arms outstretched in an expectant hug.

England plowed his fist into his face.

When France had recovered somewhat looking at the face of a very #!*% off Brit, he exclaimed, "Mais, l'Angleterre! Tu es ici! Ce n'est possible pas!"

"Bloody #!*% , Frog! Speak in English, not in that idiotic twiddle you call a language!"

With his eyes narrowed, his eyebrows with a life of their own, and his coat flying manically behind him he definently looked like the devil incarnate…and that purple aura…hmm…no, France, wasn't taking chances.

"L'Angleterre! You are here! I did not expect you!"

"Well, of course, frog, why on earth would I tell you of all my doings?"

France had picked himself off the ground and was his normal flamboyant, utterly gay self again.

"It iz just…I did not expect your coming zees year…or zeh year before zhat…"

"Yes, yes, well, I decided to…take him on his offer this time."

England pulled himself together.

"L'Amerique will be very happy, you know." France commented, directing his way –too-much luggage handled by men dressed even more ridiculous and tacky than he himself was. England grimaced, his inner pirate shouting at him to kill the girly men right then and there. But instead, he scoffed.

"Right. I'm just another guest, another person to give him well wishes and the walk out the door without even a thank-you."

"Ahh, L'Angleterre, you are too 'arsh. You should be more like moi…make yourself known in a crowd! Let yourself be free, unhindered by zeh gentleman persona you insist upon!"

"Yes, yes, blowing you off now, so sorry, have to run, sissy girl." England breezed by France without any other words as the pervert gaped and stuttered for words.

After walking in the direction of America's house for five minutes to throw France off, England, after some thought, abruptly turned left. Miss Pixie landed on his shoulder and whispered, "England…America's house is the other way?"

He nodded. "Well, I don't think I particularly want to go now, so…" his eyes lit upon a bright neon sign flashing way-too-bright and completely illegible words. The giant martini glass tipped him off, though, ad he walked inside without a second thought.

And yes, America, thought to himself, his party was freaking awesome! It was loud, it was crazy…Italy was hanging from the ceiling by streamers…but he could totally fix that…later…His stack of presents was getting huge, he'd have to start moving it to his room. Oh, #!*% yes, most of them were rectangular! He was gonna have a #!*% of a time playing video games in his room for the next 36 hours.

Another cry of laughter went up, and America ran into the living room to join the fun. Music, video games, burgers on the grill, best birthday ever! A giant, five-foot high cake covered in yellow and green frosting with a hundred-something candles on it sat in the middle of the room, unaware of countries staring at it and women calming the frightened children who were even close to it. #!*% , that cake was his pride and joy! It was awesome!

Lights flashed in every direction as America made his way over across the crowd to where France and Germany (it was a last minute decision to invite him…former socialists didn't sit well with Alfred) were...busy...Well, it was more like France poking Germany in the arm and exclaiming about how awesome he was, with Germany doing his best to pretend that he was alone.

"Hey, Germany, France! How's the party, am I right? It's awesome! My birthday is a national holiday, so of course I had to bring out the full stops!"

Germany finally pushed France a little forcefully out of the way and away from the incessant poking (WWII grudges hadn't exactly gone away yet), and seeing that there would be no better chance than this, Alfred took that chance to ask a tentative question.

"Oh, and by the way, neither of you has seen Arthur, right?" he asked, trying with all his hero powers to sound nonchalant.

Germany muttered something about never wanting to see the man again, then took off towards Italy. Apparently, he had now found some water and was boiling pasta who knows how on the floor.

Alfred turned to Francis, who was rubbing his neck.

"Soooo….have you?"

France looked away, refusing to meet America's eyes.

"Cause he's not here…and he won't answer his phone…"

France coughed, hating any sort of conflict that…well… he knew he was going to lose.

"Ah, um, yes…yes I did see him."

"What? Really? Where the #!*% is that tasteless pirate, then? Cause he's not here, and he told me that he would totally come!"

Francis shifted uncomfortably, but continued talking.

"L'Amerique…I don't think that he had any intention to come at all. He has…things on his mind."

"Huh?" America wasn't shocked per say, but he was a little surprised. "Why?...Okay, come on, the Revolution was totally a hundred something years ago! He's still hung up on that crap?" America slouched in a chair, disappointed.

"It wasn't just another war for him." France stated quietly. America closed his bright blue eyes and sighed. He shoved Texas farther up his nose and stood up, grabbing his bomber jacket.

"Alright then, where did he go?" he smiled, hero grin plastered on his face.

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><p>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<p>

Ah, America...always trying to be the hero...

Anywho, Thanks, BritPick94, for correcting me, I totally forgot the time period. And thanks for commenting on my writing style, you should have seen my first fics when I was in 8th grade *shivers* they were horrendous XD. Hope you continue to read! I really appreciate it!

And to AnimeM22, I'm glad you like the story! I didn't know how it was going to turn out...I usually write from first person view. Keep reading, and Iggy is the best!

AND...

Awwwww...Iggy is the best...And there are tons of things I could call him, you know? Britain, England, Arthur, Artie, UK, Iggy...the list goes on...did you ever realize that Iggy is the only one in Hetalia to have a nickname? Well, if i'm wrong, totally tell me.

OMG it is SO hard to write America! He's so spazztastic and crazy and completely insane, and it's hard to keep that when he's concerned about Iggy. The next chapter is gonna be a bear to write, cause I can write England fairly well, but America...Grrrrr...

Well, anyway, I've talked enough. Again, Reviews are appreciated and yes, I actually care what you people think! Otherwise, I just assume that it's alright...

Thanks for reading, and...yes. Go drink tea.

-Fang


	3. Confessions of a Brit

Hey, there, Fang here!

Man, I am on a biscuit! (Yeah...everyone says that their on a roll...it's discriminating against the other bread products) But anyway, here's the next installment. I have the whole fic done, I just need to place a flashback somewhere and i don't know where. Anywho, Have at it!

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><p>England put down his fourth drink of who knows what and laid his head in his arm. Even after that many, he was only tipsy, and not full-blown drunk as he was planning. Get drunk off his arse, wander around Washington D.C. for a little bit mumbling mindless crap, and crash in some alley and wake up with no idea where he was or what the #!*% he did last night. Just like he did last year. And the year before that. Continuing on for ten years, and probably longer than that. #!*% , it was getting hard to remember. Good.<p>

He heard the splashing of liquid crackling against the ice as the bartender refilled again. Arthur blindly reached for the glass and, tilting his head back, downed half of it in one go. The alcohol burned going down his throat, slightly aggravating his heart, still somewhat painful from the London bombings.

England's hair fell down in his face as he took another swallow. Great, he thought. Just bloody wonderful. He stared at his shaking hand, and gave a lopsided smirk.

Old, he thought. I'm old. He gave a short barking laugh dripping with sarcasm. More than 1000 years, and I finally accept it. I can't even take care of myself in a bloody war! He ran a twitching hand through his blonde hair. Heh, he was just like his house. Nothing but a complement to the main attraction. It's all America. Bloody America. #!*% , no one paid attention to England. America could handle everything now. America was the hero. America, America, America, stupid America!

A small touch on his shoulder, and England whipped around, fire in his eyes.

"Flying-Mint – Go away! Bloody #!*% , can't a man get any privacy?"

The little green bunny hovered about his shoulder, concern in its cute little voice.

"But – England, are you-"

"No! I'm bloody fine! Now, #!*% , get lost!"

Hurt, the little rabbit flew out of the bar, and Arthur slumped down in his barstool once again.

Sixth drink. #!*% ….Why did America leave? What was the point of his actions? He had good reasons for taxation! But no, America was being as ungrateful as usual. England didn't understand it. What had he done wrong?

The rain was falling on him again, the mud ruining his uniform, in his hair, covering his face. His gun was lying beside him, tossed aside, and in the earth, he could hear the footsteps of thousands of boots fade away. His own soldiers were gone. Everyone was gone. He was alone.

How had he become so weak? No! He wasn't weak, not at all! Only a bloody git would think that he was weak. Like France, he remembered drunkenly. France is the one who sucks balls. He smirked. At least I'm better than France. At least…

Another tap was on his shoulder, and when he turned around again, he came at the intruder with a right cross, drunkenly off course. Less than a second later, his fist collided with air and his wrist was caught up in another's grip. He raised his raging gaze up to meet a pair of crystalline bespectacled eyes. In his confused mind he almost swore he saw a wave of concern come from those eyes, but he rubbed the idea out of his mind as soon as it came, and jerked his head away from the other country's grasp. Why the #!*% would America be worried about him? England was perfectly fine. He turned his attention to his half-finished drink, intending to forget about the little encounter.

America had no intention of such a thing. After Iggy pulled away and faced the bar again, Alfred stared at the figure of his big brother, and then grabbed a barstool of his own and sat next to him.

Arthur looked terrible. His hair looked even more unkempt, if it was even possible, his clothing was disheveled, and his eyes had dulled in color form the liquor. The last time Alfred had seen him in such a state was when he found him during the Battle of Britain…but he didn't want to think about that at all. Instead he just sat there, and when Arthur finished his drink, he took the glass from Arthur's fingers and motioned the bartender away when he came to refill it. England grumbled, but let the glass leave and sat staring at the wall filled with colorful glasses and well-polished wood.

Alfred gave it a couple more minutes for the drunken man beside him to start a conversation, or at least give an explanation, and then gave up waiting.

"Hey, man…you okay?" he laid a hand on England's shoulder. Arthur didn't seem to notice; in fact, he made no acknowledgment of his younger brother whatsoever. America sighed; #!*% it, when the hero didn't go as planned.

"Dude, you didn't come to my party." England gave what could have been a laugh, and put his head in his hands, still refusing to answer.

"You said on the phone you would." America's voice grew a little louder, and he shook the Brit gently. Arthur made no sound. Alfred removed his hand incredulously.

"I was worried, Artie."

Arthur slammed his fist on the counter.

"Worried?" he yelled. He looked at America, eyes clouded and storming, mouth snarling. Alfred moved back in his chair, surprised and shocked. Not frightened though, he told himself. The hero is never frightened. The other occupants of the bar looked up at the outburst, but neither of the two countries noticed. Arthur wavered in his barstool, the effects of the alcohol clearly showing, but didn't break eye contact with Alfred.

"Worried?" he repeated. "You, America, worried? After more than a century, and all the bloody _ #!*% _ that has bloody happened, you're _worried_ because I didn't show up at a #!*% birthday party?"

Alfred was taken aback.

"Do you know what day it is? July 4! Lovely date, isn't it! Absolutely #!*% brilliant. Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe, while you're out busy bloody celebrating with the rest of those blokes, that I wasn't at all? Why do you think I turned down every bloody invitation for every bloody birthday party you've ever had since 1776?"

Alfred said nothing. Arthur growled and turned to face the front.

"I tried this year, you know? I bloody tried. And I can't. I just can't."

His eyes glazed over, and he seemed not to register America's presence.

"You don't know what it's like. You don't know what it's like to have your brother turn on you when you thought you were doing the right thing. You don't know what it's like to realize that he's mad at you, and you don't know why, because you bloody can't see that he's not the little America that you loved. You don't know what it's like to point a gun at him and ask yourself to shoot when you know you can't, and then he leaves you face down in the mud and the rain because you weren't strong enough to get him back, and you don't know if you're crying or if it's just the rain.

"And you hate feeling like this, because you're the big brother, the strong empire, the leader of Europe, and you're beaten because you just couldn't shoot. And you figure out that you're bloody weak. You're weak, and helpless, and can't do anything without America anymore, because he's the stronger one and the one everyone looks to and you, England, slowly lose any influence or meaning that you had before."

Arthur's eyes were distant now, stuck in the past memories of his life.

"And before you know it, you're all that stands between Germany and the rest of the world, and bugger it if you're going to let him get past you and onto America. The bombs fall…people are screaming, your people are screaming, and you can't – do – anything. You run, and run, your chest is on fire, you feel the same way you did back then, that same hopeless feeling that the whole world is ripping apart, and you're tinkering on the bloody edge. But this time, you have no lifeline to pull yourself back up, and you're wondering 'Where is America?' for a hellish amount of days and he's not there. You're falling and falling and bloody fall –"

"Stop."

Alfred's voice cut through the stream of memories. Arthur didn't lose his faraway look, but he did turn towards the voice.

"Just…stop it, Artie."

When Artie didn't respond, Alfred grabbed him by the shoulders and jerked him to face the other. Arthur didn't show any sign of recognition, eyes empty of all emotion, becoming dark green, endless voids. Alfred shook him hard, panic shooting through his body, and a few quick jerks left England a little dazed, but out of the past. He hand was clenched above his heart, that old war wound of the Battle of Britain still plainly haunting him.

"Why should I? Do you want me to go on? I can, you know. Poor, weak England apparently always needs to be saved-"

Alfred's fist flew into his face, and Arthur went flying from his barstool and crashed onto the wooden floor. The bar grew deathly quiet, everyone's attention on the new disturbance. A trickle of blood ran down from Arthur's mouth as the noticeable angry red mark grew on his cheek. He made no move to wipe it off, but sat stunned on the ground staring straight ahead. Alfred stood up from the bar, his knuckles bleeding, and grabbed the front of Iggy's shirt, hoisting him off the ground none-too-gently. Arthur remained limp, simply letting Alfred keep him from falling.

"You son of a-" Alfred snarled.

"Guys! Honestly, take it outside, huh?" the bartender cut in, leaning over the counter. Alfred made no move that he heard him, but acquiesced, literally dragging Arthur out the door and into the street.

"Hey, who's gonna pay for that guy's tab?"

Alfred shut the door in his face.

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><p>AUTHOR'S COMMENTS:<p>

OK! First, Reviews:

What up, BritPick? Yeah...I don't know how Italy did it, but if he could make pasta in a desert, I'm pretty sure that he could make pasta on America's floor. I hope you liked this chapter...it was really hard to write.

Hey, Kirlia! Thanks for the comment on fixing mistakes. I went back, and got rid of the caller ID thing, I totally forgot that was there. Oh, and about the censoring, I really have no control over that. I write actually cuss words, but because of my computer's thing on keeping it safe for minors (I have younger siblings) it censors the words. I'm sorry if it bothers you...I don't mean it too...T_T

Dude, nupinoop296! Thanks for the tip about Germany. I'm not good at writing for him...he's not even close to my favorite character, but I took your suggestions and tried to make him more...Germany-like. I'm glad you're liking the story, though, so enjoy!

Alright! This chapter was a freakin bear...It's not hard to write monologues, but I don't really know how well this chapter turned out. All Hetalia characters other than America are hard to write (Sorry, Iggy, but it's true...).

And Drunk Iggy is hard when I want him to go on a long speech thing but I want him a little drunk at the same time and it just doesn't like working and my head explodes and goes PLOOEY! Ok, not really, but close enough.

Anyway, Thanks for reading, and reviews are lovely things. I like them gift wrapped, or shoved in my face, either is good! Tell me if i'm doing anything right or wrong, I need both!

Once again, Tea and Crumpets are amazing.

-Fang


	4. Alleyway Talk

Hey there, Fang here! Well, last chapter in this story, and I think I did pretty well! Well, hopefully...READ! Yes! ^_^

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><p>Alfred dragged Arthur, barely struggling either from too much liquor or just a general lack of caring, into the alley next to the bar. He shoved Iggy against the wall, and paid no heed to his grunt of pain.<p>

"Are you #!*% insane?"

Arthur just glared at him, the physical pain beginning to bring him around from his drunken stupor. Alfred gritted his teeth.

"Do you really think that that's all you are? Weak? Really?"

"I would think you would be happy that I finally admitted it, America! Wasn't that your whole life goal?"

Alfred shoved Arthur once more, and then stood back, letting him go. Arthur slid down from his standing place against the bricks to land slumped over, head between his knees. The out-of-breath American stared at his older brother kneeling before him, incredulous.

"Who the #!*% are you? You #!*% …!"

Arthur raised his head.

"What the bloody #!*% are you talking about, you git? This is me! This is England! What, is the surprise too great for you to handle, or is your happiness just overcoming you?" Sarcasm dripped like acid from his voice. "You wanted to be the best, didn't you? You just wanted to shove your success down my bloody throat. Well, you got what you wanted, didn't you?"

Alfred took a step back.

"No. No, you're not England. You aren't Arthur. The England I know wouldn't say crap like that."

"Well, who the bloody #!*% do you think I am?"

America's eyes were smoldering, #!*% -off blue meeting fiery green.

"Do you really think I broke away from you in the Revolution just because you were being an #!*% about taxes? Honestly? I broke off from you because I wanted to be your equal!"

Arthur's clouded eyes shot back into clarity.

"If I was your little brother, your little colony under you for the rest of history, I'd always be under you. Too bad you missed it, but I grew up, Artie. And don't think that I didn't hate that day, too." America shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I didn't want to let you just lie there, Artie. But I had to. If I was going to become a country I had to do it. You wouldn't let me do anything! What was the point of anything if I couldn't do anything for myself? Yeah, I still have regrets about it, but I just don't let it consume my life like a certain idiot I know!"

Arthur chuckled mirthlessly. "I thought you were supposed to be the idiot…"

Alfred plopped down next to his brother and leaned back on the wall. Arthur sighed, and later, he would blame the alcohol for the next comments.

"Well, I've gotten used to letting colonies go now. Seems to be the normal Christmas gift nowadays…"

"Arthur, I'm actually kinda glad that you lost your colonies." England stiffened at that, waiting for another biting remark.

"Cause then, you won't disappear." Alfred finished. Arthur's eyes widened. "I'm not kidding, Artie. You remember all those useless history lessons that you forced on me? Yeah, I don't, but one of them kinda stuck. All those giant empires, you know, the toga-dudes and the empire that the guy named Otto ran?"

"Ottoman Empire…" Arthur corrected instantly.

"Yeah, whatever. Anyway, they all grew so freaking huge, and then they just….left. Gone. Somewhere. Maybe nowhere. It's totally weird, right? Oh, that's totally going off track. But anyway, when I was a kid, you were so huge, Artie. So freaking big. And, well, I was freaked out that you were going to end up like those empires. That'd you just leave and never come back. Especially with the whole salutary neglect thing, you really got me going there." Alfred chuckled. "I guess it never really went away."

Iggy dropped his head in his arms, trying to hide his uncertain expression.

"Well, I guess I became too small then. Pft, I can't even take care of my bloody self."

Alfred grabbed Iggy by the arm, making him raise his head in surprise.

"Don't even say that. Dude, take a look at what we did in the giant- #!*% war! We dominated, man! It was you and me and Canada, rockin it Allies style!" America grinned his hero smile and shoved Texas up his nose for the 50th time. Arthur couldn't help but laugh at that one. Alfred's expression grew serious, though.

"And about the whole Battle of Britain thing….I'm so sorry I didn't get there sooner man. I mean, you know the whole thing about my boss's stupid neutrality and all, but I coulda done something sooner."

"Well, your planes dented the attacks a bit more, my RAF could use the help. Don't beat yourself up about it."

"Oh, so you can do it yourself? Nice try, Iggy, but there is no way you can say that you are weak because of that. Germany didn't stand a chance."

Silence fell between the two. Iggy eventually coughed, cleared his throat, and shook his head twice. Rubbing his eyes on his shirt sleeve, he hid his face.

"Yes, well, the help was greatly appreciated, when you finally got there." Arthur rubbed his chest absently, but the action was not missed by Alfred.

"You were holding fine, dude. I can't imagine how that must've felt."

"Well, it wasn't a picnic, that's for sure."

Alfred knocked Arthur with his elbow playfully. Iggy rubbed his head, and pushed himself up into a somewhat-standing position before his sense of balane gave out and ht topped backward to lean against the wall. Alfred hurriedly got to his feet and looped the Brit's arm over his shoulders.

"Dude, you are going to have one crazy- #!*% hangover tomorrow…" he laughed. England scowled, but after a hesitation of trying to clear his mind again and failing, he allowed Alfred to support some of his weight, and they began off to the American's house.

" #!*% …forgot a present…"Arthur murmured under his breath. Alfred grinned.

"No prob, man. No prob."

As Arthur crashed in America's guest room, Alfred knew the coming morning was gonna be #!*% . But you know? What else are brothers for?

* * *

><p>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<p>

ZOMG it is done! I hope you people enjoyed it...

Reviews!

What up, AnimeM22! Sorry about the bar...even though it was completely overused, I did need it for Iggy's little speeches. At least it didn't end in the bar, and Iggy didn't pass out! ^_^ And I love his pirate side, I'm planning on writing a fic doing something that takes place in his pirate past. I hope you enjoyed the story!

Hey, nupinoop296! I think Alfred handled Iggy alright...he's not one for really long talks, he just tends to act before he thinks. I love Arthur...I love torturing Arthur...He's just so easy to do it to! Well, the end is the end, and thanks for reading!

Anywho! I really love Arthur and Alfred. I love how they have this unspoken friendship that neither of them is going to admit (Check out the whale episode...). I like the deepness of it, and I tend to do that to a lot of animes and movies: Holmes and Watson, Hamlet and Horatio, etc. I hate it if it turns sexual, as I feel it detracts from the actual friendship.

But! Besides all that, I like how this story turned out, considering it was my first Hetalia fic. Please review this chapter, I love you all, and feedback is awesome...

And More will be coming! I can promise you that!

See ya round!

-Fang


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